


the heat where you lay

by marcel



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 01, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beach Episode but with no beach, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, No Beast AU, gay people be like: hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcel/pseuds/marcel
Summary: "Before you ask, pool party attendance is always mandatory."Quentin pauses, thrown. "I didn't know Brakebills had a pool.""It doesn't," Eliot agrees, then leads Quentin through the back door to the yard behind the Cottage where an inground pool is waiting for them, clear blue and sparkling in the sun.or: Spending an afternoon enjoying the weather with Eliot and Margo leads Quentin to some unexpected outcomes, some better than others.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 38
Kudos: 195





	the heat where you lay

**Author's Note:**

> well folks a few days ago i learned my worst character trait is that when my friends tell me i am getting sunburned i never believe them and then i end up sunburned. i dont always channel my suffering into fic but when i do it's i’m gay.  
> i must b honest the first half of this fic owes a lot to [this tweet](https://twitter.com/maki_to13/status/1248323471186198529) which i have been thinking about for almost 2 full months. please enjoy this beach episode with no beach but a lot of Longing Looks and Meaningful Touches. happy pride month yall
> 
> thank u to becca for catching my tragic spelling mistakes i owe u my life, and thank u nicole for EVERYTHING including letting me send u increasingly mopey text messages for the 3.5 weeks of fatigue btwn curse fic and this. as always, it is all for u.
> 
> PS - the fandom relief auction [not alone here](https://twitter.com/notaIonehere) is having a second round to benefit various BLM causes in the coming weeks! definitely check it out and join us if you can!

The strange period of late spring where the temperature suddenly heats up by twenty degrees out of nowhere happens every single year, but Quentin always seems to forget about it until it's bearing down on him. Lately he really only goes outside to get between classes or to the library, and for the odd day trip into the city that Julia cajoles him into, so it's usually fine, but today in particular feels like summer has come a full month early.

He reached the Sweating Through Both Layers Threshold halfway across campus coming back from his morning class, and as soon as he set foot in his bedroom in the Cottage he had immediately thrown off his hoodie and gone looking for his singular pair of shorts. He probably hasn't worn them since highschool, or maybe the one beach party Julia talked him into attending in undergrad, but either way they still fit, somehow. If things get dire, he might even be able to wear them in public. Maybe after he spells off the Hollister logo.

Footsteps on the stairs interrupt him before he can try, though, and a voice croons at him from the landing. "Q, are you back?"

After a few seconds, Eliot pushes his half-closed door open, dressed in a floral satin robe with sunglasses perched artfully on his curls. "Oh good, you're already dressed," he says, giving Quentin a once-over, then flaps an impatient hand at him. "Well, grab a book and come on, already."

Eliot has this way of getting Quentin to agree to things before he's even outlined what particular happening needs agreeing to, so Quentin immediately picks up the book on his nightstand - a fantasy novel Margo had said was something like _Game of Thrones_ but without all the bullshit - and lets Eliot herd him swiftly down the stairs.

"What am I dressed for, exactly?" he remembers to ask, halfway through the kitchen.

"For spending the afternoon with Margo and I, outside," Eliot explains. "When she first mentioned vitamin D, I thought it was a euphemism, but it turns out seeing the sun once in a while can be good for you, too." He pauses momentarily to press a bottle of sunscreen into Quentin's hands.

"Oh." Quentin wonders if this is the latest in the series of attempts Eliot and Margo made to cheer him up after he and Alice broke things off - weeks ago, now, but the two of them have kept up periodically spiriting Quentin away to various places or whisking him off for different activities, even though the mood boost isn't really necessary anymore. He and Alice are even friends now— or, almost friends, whatever, they're working on it. Either way, Margo and Eliot still seem wholly devoted to making sure Quentin is having a good time whenever they're around. 

The one time he mentioned this to Julia, hesitantly explaining that he felt bad they were still keeping it up, she had given him a weird look and told him very patiently, if not a little worriedly, that what he's been experiencing is called Friendship, Quentin, What The Hell Goes On At The Cottage Anyway, Jesus Christ, so now he just goes along with their plans, whatever they are, and keeps his quiet happy awe to himself.

Still, outside is warm and the sun is hot, and Quentin _just_ got in and was looking forward to cooling off. Eliot seems to sense his hesitation, though. "Before you ask, pool party attendance is _always_ mandatory."

Quentin pauses, thrown. "I didn't know Brakebills had a pool."

"It doesn't," Eliot agrees, then leads Quentin through the back door to the yard behind the Cottage where an inground pool is waiting for them, clear blue and sparkling in the sun.

Margo is already in the water, reclined on a bright pink donut-shaped float with a big sun hat and a black one-piece swimsuit with a deep V down the front. Todd is there too, crouched by a cooler off to one side, and he gives them an enthusiastic wave.

Quentin waves back somewhat weakly. He's pretty sure he couldn't have missed a 30-foot pool for an entire term and a half. The alternative is, of course, that Margo and Eliot transfigured it themselves - or stole it, somehow, but they both look pretty pleased and Quentin decides to not question it.

"We went ahead and assumed you wouldn't want to swim, but there's a chair for you, in the shade," Eliot explains, gesturing to a cushioned lawn chair under an umbrella beside the pool. "Or, you know, we can always blow up another float for you if you want to get wild."

Quentin shakes his head, already edging under the umbrella. "No, this is— this is fine." It's really nice, actually, the idea that they had set this up for him.

Margo's head lolls towards them as her float turns in a slow circle. "I _told_ you he'd come if you asked," she calls to Eliot.

"You could've asked instead," Eliot scoffs, slipping out of his robe to reveal a pair of very short, very tight swim trunks clinging to his upper thighs. "You just didn't want to get up."

"I'm basking, so sue me." Margo shrugs, then shifts her gaze to Quentin, and he tears his eyes away from Eliot's legs to catch her amused grin. "Nice shorts, Coldwater."

"Thanks," he says, more out of alarm than anything else.

Eliot snorts as he drapes his robe over the back of the shaded lawn chair, then tosses another pink donut float into the pool. He steps across the surface of the water, telekinesis keeping him aloft, and lowers himself gracefully onto the float with none of the splashing or waffling Quentin knows he himself would cause if he tried the same thing. 

"I'm serious," Margo says, and Quentin steers his attention back to her just in time to see her wink at him. "You should show leg more often."

"Seconded," Eliot drawls, lowering his sunglasses over his eyes, then he raises one hand to snap his fingers.

At the other end of the pool, Todd hurriedly digs a bottle out of the cooler, pours three glasses and tops each with a wedge of pineapple and a colourful bendy straw. He scurries over and hands two of them to Margo, very nearly falling into the pool as he leans over the edge, and Eliot floats the third glass over to Quentin with a wave of his hand.

Quentin almost fumbles it, still a little jittery. He should be used to it by now, the playful flirting thing that Margo and Eliot do with most of their friends - Eliot and Penny have this extremely one-sided bit where Eliot tells Penny he's looking _risqué_ and Penny pretends not to have heard him, and Margo could always make Alice blush deeper than Quentin ever managed to - but Quentin can never quite tell if they're joking, when it's directed at him. Eliot, especially, is a mystery, not only because of the flirting but… other things, too, that make Quentin wonder.

Sometimes when they were together, studying or practicing spells or just sitting and talking, Eliot would put a hand on his arm, or his shoulder, or between his shoulder blades and just— linger there, for a while. The weight of it would last just long enough for Quentin to wonder if he meant something by it, but it always seemed that as soon as Quentin took notice of the touch Eliot would pull away. It wasn't as constant as the tongue-in-cheek flirting, but regular enough that he had been starting to think there might be something… _different_ , when it came to him and Eliot. 

But after he and Alice got together at the end of first term, the touches had become few and far between. Quentin understood, mostly, and hadn't even really wondered about it at all while he had been with Alice, but in the month or so since the breakup Eliot hasn't gone back to doing much more than throwing a friendly arm over Quentin's shoulder to lead him around. And it's not that Quentin _misses_ the lingering, sort of purposeful way Eliot used to touch him, but— maybe he kind of does, actually. 

He notices with a start that Eliot is staring at him, sunglasses and eyebrows raised, and abruptly remembers the untouched drink sweating in his hands. He's never been sure quite how he feels about piña coladas, but if it's good enough for Eliot it's definitely good enough for him. He takes a small sip, the sour-sweetness almost hurting his tastebuds at first, but it _is_ good, and Eliot, apparently waiting for his reaction, smiles before taking his own drink from Margo and tipping his head back, his sunglasses falling neatly back down over his eyes.

Quentin makes himself relax, puts his book and the sunscreen down and sits on the edge of the cushioned chair with the cold drink cupped in his hands. It's pretty good, actually, being outside. He takes some deep breaths of fresh, late spring air, revelling in the soft breeze that rolls past. It's not so hot now that he isn't walking around in it, more pleasantly warm. He ties his hair back to keep it off his neck and, after a few minutes in the shade, decides that Eliot and Margo might even be right about this vitamin D thing.

He slips off the chair to settle at the edge of the pool, setting his drink down by his side and peeling off his socks to dip his feet in the water. It's refreshing and cool, and Margo crows as if him getting his feet wet is a personal victory. Eliot laughs too, clearly just as pleased, and Quentin ducks his head, hiding his smile and trying to focus on the book in his lap. He's a little wary of having it so close to the water, but figures since it's Margo's, they wouldn't dare splashing him or trying to yank him into the pool. Besides, after the laughter quiets down and Todd is sent inside, they both look pleased enough to just be floating, sunning themselves, chatting quietly together with Quentin closeby. 

It's times like this that he can't really help feeling lucky, not just to be here at Brakebills with magic and everything else, but to be _here_ , with Eliot and Margo, counted among their friends. Even just small things, like them wanting him to join them outside for an afternoon, make him feel— special, or something. Julia would probably say that's what friends are supposed to do, but whatever - it's nice to have Margo lend him fantasy novels and to have Eliot drop a piña colada into his hands and to sit out here in the sun and feel like they want him there, like they've made a space for him. And if he spends a bit of time imagining what would happen if Eliot floated a little closer, if he reached out to drag him in, maybe... well, that's between him and this book that deserves more focus than he's giving it.

He actually ends up making it through a couple chapters before Margo calls his name and makes him look up. "Toss me the sunscreen, would you? It's time for the re-up."

"Oh, uh, sure." Quentin leans back to reach for the bottle, urging it the last few inches into his hand with magic, then lobs it to Margo.

She squeezes a glob of the cream into her palm and leans over to bestow the same upon Eliot, then brushes her hair over her shoulder and starts to spread it over her face and chest. Quentin looks away when she starts to slide her hand down the V of her swimsuit, but his eyes end up on Eliot instead - his sunglasses are pushed up into his hair again, and the way he's spreading his own palmful almost languidly over his bare chest is even worse, so Quentin hurriedly looks down at his book again.

He's sure if he glanced up he'd see the two of them snickering to each other - it's not, like, a _problem_ that Margo and Eliot are both, you know, hot and untouchable and extremely aware of it. It's just that it sometimes catches Quentin off-guard, somehow, even though he spends so much time with them. And it doesn't help that they both seem to love making him blush. He tries his best to ignore any and all slippery noises and definitely reads the same sentence three times.

"You should put some on too, Q," Margo calls, and Quentin looks up again almost without thinking, but luckily Eliot's hands are on Margo's shoulders, spreading sunscreen there while she holds her hair out of the way. "Since you're— you know."

"Not exactly the outdoors-y type?" Quentin offers, hoping it sounds more wry than wrung out.

Margo smirks at him. "I was gonna say white, but that too. Here, I have some extra." She flaps one sunscreen-smeared hand at him.

Eliot nudges the side of her donut and sends her floating over to the edge of the pool. Once she's in range, Quentin can't help laughing as she swipes the cool cream over his nose and cheeks, just barely rubbing it in before momentum takes her out of reach again.

"Fuckin'— okay, El, your turn."

"I'm all out," Eliot sighs, and he raises his clean hands defensively when Margo shoots him a heatless glare. "What? My legs are longer than yours, alright, more surface area."

"That's okay," Quentin says, feeling almost— disappointed? He paws at the cream on his face and clears his throat as casually as he can. "I still have, like, a shirt, so…"

"What about the rest of you?" Margo demands, wiping off her hand on Eliot's shin.

Eliot shoots him a frown as well. "T-shirts don't do much, Q, believe me. You spend enough summers with a farmer's tan, you get a sense about these things."

"And you _are_ looking a little pink already," Margo points out, tilting her head at him with a grin.

Quentin resists the urge to turn away, sure a blush has risen to his face after all. "I'll be fine," he insists. "I don't usually get sunburned, anyway."

"If you say so," Margo hums, and Quentin is almost grateful when she tosses the sunscreen bottle onto the grass rather than hand it back to him. Trying not to think about Eliot and Margo lathering each other in the soft cream is hard enough, he doesn't think he could get near it without turning even redder than he already is.

He picks up his book again and risks one last glance at them - for a moment Eliot looks back at him, in that amusedly-interested way of his, before he puts his sunglasses back on and returns to basking, entirely unabashed and unbothered.

Another hour or so passes before the quiet, comfortable peace of the yard is interrupted by the arrival of Kady and Penny, who all but kick the back door open and come barrelling towards the pool laughing. Alice follows behind them, a little more subdued, but Quentin can see she's fighting back a smile. She has a pretty sundress wrap over her swimsuit and looks... happy, which is nice. She even waves at Quentin, and he returns it, a bit surprised. He thinks about offering her the shaded chair behind him, but she joins Kady on the other side of the pool instead - which is probably for the best, Quentin can admit, but it doesn't make his chest hurt like it might have done a few weeks ago.

When he looks back at the others, Margo is pointing an accusatory finger at Penny, who's poised by the edge of the pool. "If you cannonball in here, I swear to god I will freeze your ass," she threatens.

"You guys have been out here for hours," he says. "You're not even swimming!"

"We're sunbathing," Eliot drawls, barely looking up. "The surface tension is part of it."

"Bullshit. It's a swimming pool."

Eliot glances at Margo and shakes his head. " _Blatant_ homophobia."

"Literally everyone here is queer," Kady points out, spreading a towel on the grass. "But seriously, even Quentin is getting more wet than the two of you."

Quentin can't help grinning a little sheepishly, kicking his feet in the water. Eliot turns to give him a playful frown, flicking some droplets at him that fall far short of the pool's edge.

"There's enough room for all of us," Alice says placatingly, then hesitates. "... You _have_ had the pool to yourselves for a while, though."

Margo and Eliot take a few seconds to have an entire conversation just through their eyes - which Quentin isn't entirely sure of the logistics of, since Eliot's are hidden behind his sunglasses - and seem to reach an agreement, both of them heaving extremely put-upon sighs.

"Fine," Eliot says, dramatic like he's admitting a hard-fought defeat. "Have your game of sexy water polo, or whatever. But you'll have to do it _without_ the grace of our presence." With that, he tips himself sideways off his float and disappears under the water with a splash.

"I think we'll survive," Penny says dryly.

Kady snickers, then shoves him over the edge of the pool before jumping in herself a second later. They both come up grinning - and just a little spluttery, on Penny's part - and Kady turns to beckon Alice to join them in the water. Alice takes off her sundress, smiling shyly when Margo whistles at her, and lets Kady tug her into the pool.

Quentin gets caught up for a moment, watching them shriek and laugh and get each other drenched. Rolling her eyes, Margo kicks off the edge of the pool and sends herself floating to the far end, away from all the splashing. And then Eliot resurfaces in front of Quentin, and his train of thought screeches to a halt.

He's lost his sunglasses, but he hardly seems concerned as he pushes his hair out of his face, sunlight catching on his rings and every droplet of water streaming off his skin. The surface of the pool reflects ripples across his chest, the slicked-down hair there, and dances in waves up to his jaw and even his eyes, made brighter when he smiles at Quentin and makes one long stroke towards him. Quentin watches him move easily through the water, like it's parting for him, and swallows hard, mouth dry all of a sudden.

Eliot crosses his arms on the edge of the pool right beside him, his elbow brushing Quentin's thigh. There's water glittering on his lashes when he looks up. "Time to retire, I think," he says, grinning at him. "Want to help with dinner?"

Quentin blinks, taking a full second to process his words. Last he checked, Eliot was acutely aware of the fact that he could barely dice an onion. And yet. "Sure?"

"Come on, then." Eliot lifts himself out of the pool in one fluid, graceful motion, and Quentin very nearly drops his book in the water. He scrambles to his feet in time to see Eliot slipping his robe back on, his hair falling into his face as he ties the sash. "Bambi requires our assistance."

They both lean over to help Margo off her float before anyone can try to steal it out from under her and inevitably end up getting hexed. Eliot fishes his sunglasses out of the water with a wave of his hand, then ushers her and Quentin back towards the Cottage, leaving their other friends laughing and splashing in the sun.

_Helping with dinner_ actually ends up meaning sitting with Margo while Eliot makes them something with sautéed peppers and chicken. They talk about the first few chapters of the book while the pan sizzles— or, Margo talks about it, and Quentin tries very hard to focus on what she's saying but keeps catching himself staring at the last few water droplets running down Eliot's bare legs, or the way his hair is curling as it dries, falling across his forehead.

He zones back in when Margo presses a fork into his hand, and spends the meal focusing extra hard on the table conversation, determined to keep ahold of himself. He does sort of lose track as it devolves into Eliot-and-Margo-isms, and almost misses a full minute of the discussion when Eliot's robe starts slipping down his shoulder, but it's fine. The food tastes great even if Quentin can't remember what exactly it was.

Once the table is cleared, Margo and Eliot decide to go make sure nobody is fucking in the pool, as this will apparently void the warranty or something - Quentin definitely missed some of those details - but Quentin hangs back, not supremely interested in finding out the answer. He heads upstairs instead, figuring he can take the opportunity to do what he had originally planned to spend the afternoon doing: reading by himself, directly in front of the fan in his room.

He yanks out his hair tie and settles on his bed, suddenly aware of how tired he is - he's not entirely sure why, since the most strenuous activity he's done today is walking up the stairs a couple times. Maybe he can just rest his eyes for a second, before he opens the book again. He really does want to get to the chapter Margo was about 30 seconds away from spoiling while Eliot had made dinner, his deft fingers curled around the chef knife, the pan handle, the table's edge - and then, maybe, Quentin's wrist, the touch warm on his skin, almost hot… 

Quentin blinks himself awake some time later, squinting around in much weaker light than had been filling the room when he first lay down. He sits up and can just make out the deep purple edges of sunset through the window. He must've napped for a couple hours, at least. He frowns down at the book still lying at his side, untouched. He'll probably just fall back asleep if he tries to read it now.

After a few moments of tired contemplation, Quentin decides he should probably just get ready for bed properly. If the warmth of the day has wiped him out this much, he's not going to be able to get anything else done no matter how late he stays up. He puts the book back on his nightstand and rolls over with a sigh, pushing himself upright.

The slide of the bedspread against his knees is unexpectedly rough, a brief prickling pain. For a second Quentin thinks there must be something sharp trapped under his sheets, but they're as smooth as ever, and when he checks his knees for injury the skin is hot to the touch and tingling. Brow furrowed against the dark, Quentin stands up carefully and slips out of his room.

The entire Cottage is dark and quiet. It seems like everyone has turned in early, or maybe they're out late, enjoying the weather that's only just started to cool off. Either way, Quentin pads silently down the hall to the bathroom and half-closes the door before he flicks the light on.

He pauses there for a second, amazed at how fantastically red his kneecaps and lower thighs are. It's definitely a sunburn - of course it is, because he had specifically said earlier that he wouldn't get one, and that was apparently too perfect an opportunity for a good ol' dose of hubris. There's even a stripe where the hem of his shorts had blocked the sun, hilariously pale in contrast with the red of the burn. Quentin would laugh if he wasn't so dumbfounded.

He checks for further redness in the mirror and discovers it's not just his knees that got sunburned, but also the back of his neck where he'd tied his hair up, one side of his face down from his hairline to his cheekbone, and the back of the wrist he was using to keep his place in his book. He feels a sudden rush of gratitude for Margo and the small amount of sunscreen she had put on his face.

As it is, his skin is hot and itchy and edging on painful to touch. He tugs his shirt off and the fabric scrapes uncomfortably over the back of his neck. " _Ouch_ , fuck."

He's mid-twist, trying to see just how red his neck is, wondering if there's a way he can soak solely his knees and one wrist in ice water without making a huge mess and waking anyone up, when there's a quiet knock on the doorframe. A second later Eliot nudges the door open, no longer in his robe and swim trunks but a dark tank and soft looking sleep shorts. He takes one look at Quentin and winces in sympathy - although Quentin thinks he might be holding back a smile.

"I'm not going to say I told you so," he sighs, brandishing a bright green bottle of aloe. "But Margo definitely did."

Quentin takes it from him gratefully. "Yeah, yeah, I'll take your farmer's tan PTSD seriously from now on." Eliot rolls his eyes at him, and Quentin directs his attention to more pressing matters.

He applies a generous amount of the cool gel to his knees and sighs in relief at the immediate soothing effect. His wrist is easy enough to cover as well, but his neck will take some coordinating. Twisting to glance in the mirror again, he reaches over his shoulder and hopes his aim is good enough to avoid slapping a palmful of aloe directly into his hair, but Eliot stops him with a cut-off noise. "What?"

"Just— let me," Eliot offers, plucking the bottle out of his hand. "I owe you from earlier, with the sunscreen. And I'm _very_ good at getting those hard-to-reach places." He waggles his eyebrows a little, and Quentin snorts.

"Thanks." He wipes off his handful of gel on his arm then turns around, holding his hair up so Eliot can see the extent of the burn. In the mirror he watches Eliot step up behind him, spreading the aloe between his fingers, and has a heart-stopping split second of wondering if agreeing to this was a huge mistake - but then Eliot's hands are on him and Quentin very abruptly can't remember what he was thinking about.

Eliot's palms are big and wide and extremely soothing while covered in aloe gel. Quentin shivers almost immediately, unsure if it's because of the cool air on the wet aloe or because of Eliot's touch, but either way he feels it down his whole spine. It's like the rest of his body is numb, everything in him tuned to the one patch of burned skin on the back of his neck - but he can't even really tell where his sunburn begins or ends anymore, because wherever Eliot touches is left feeling overheated.

It definitely only takes a few seconds to spread the gel, but to Quentin it feels like an age before Eliot taps his shoulder to turn him back around. Quentin opens his mouth to thank him again but abruptly snaps it shut when Eliot reaches out to touch his face, gently tilting his jaw so he can see the burn on the side of his face.

He clicks his tongue, definitely more sympathetic than amused, now. "This is not going to be fun when it peels."

"It's not very fun now, either," Quentin mumbles.

"I'm sure it isn't." Eliot dips his fingers back into the aloe and spreads it, cold and soothing, over Quentin's temple. "Let this be a lesson to you. A little sunscreen goes a long way."

Quentin grips the edge of the counter behind him in an effort to keep still. "I'll try my best. But I can't promise I won't, like. Forget."

"I'll remind you," Eliot assures him. "And if this happens again, you know I can help you out."

"That sounds like an incentive," Quentin says, before he can think better of it - but Eliot just laughs, brushing Quentin's hair away from the drying gel.

"If you want me to touch you, Q, just ask."

He probably means it as a joke - almost definitely, in fact, but Quentin forgets to even try to crack a smile as he looks back at Eliot, and by the time he remembers, Eliot's expression has changed from droll to— something more serious, his eyes searching Quentin's face. Before Quentin can come up with an excuse or a distraction or even drag his gaze away, a look of surprise flits over Eliot. It only lasts a second, then it's gone and replaced with a slow, pleased smile. "Oh."

Quentin does look down then, sure his entire face must be as red as his sunburn. Maybe he can just shrivel up and die in the very back of the bathroom cabinets. He could probably even make it look nonchalant. Surely that would be easier than ever looking at Eliot ever again.

Eliot doesn't let him get very far into strategizing, though. He reaches out for Quentin's arm, stopping with his fingertips just barely brushing his sunburned wrist. Some remnant of a dream swims up in Quentin's mind, but he blinks it away, heartbeat loud in his ears.

"Q?" Eliot prompts.

"Um," Quentin manages, cheeks still burning. "About that. Yeah. I-I mean, if you want to, I know you— stopped, a while ago." He swallows hard. "Touching me, I mean. And I, um, I don't know if that was—"

"It didn't exactly seem polite to get handsy with you while your girlfriend was ten feet away," Eliot points out.

That's fair, Quentin supposes. "But… after?"

"After…" Eliot's fingers waver over Quentin's wrist. "I guess I thought you deserved some… boundaries."

Quentin almost laughs, thinking of how willingly he's gone along with most of Eliot's plans, how easily he's let himself be talked into things, as long as Eliot is the one presenting them. Physical boundaries seem kind of pointless beside all the other non-existent ones between them. "I really don't think you needed to bother," he mumbles.

"I kind of did," Eliot snorts. "Besides, consent is sexy, and all that."

"Right." Quentin swallows again, heat rising in his face. "Well, this is— I mean, you have my... permission, or whatever." He risks a glance at Eliot and finds him staring back, a playful quirk to his lips. "So I'm— asking, I guess? Unless you want me to like, put it in writing—"

"Quentin," Eliot murmurs, tilting his head just a little. "Do you want me to touch you?"

Quentin can't get the words out fast enough. "Yeah, _yes_ , please—"

Finally Eliot's fingers close around Quentin's wrist and pull him closer. He settles his other hand on Quentin's bare shoulder, his thumb swiping over his collarbone, the gentle touch like an electric shock. Quentin tries his best to keep breathing normally. He really has missed having Eliot's hands on him, even just casually - but this is decidedly not casual.

Eliot trails from Quentin's forearm to his elbow and over to his waist, then slides his palm slowly up over his chest. Quentin feels every inch of the journey all the way up to the side of his neck, where Eliot pauses with his fingers resting at the very edge of his sunburn. He looks at Quentin with a pleased sort of awe, and Quentin is sure he's going to either hyperventilate or stop breathing entirely - but he sees Eliot's gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and that spurs something in him.

They're close enough together that he doesn't even have to move that much, just comes up on his toes, gripping Eliot's arm for support, and— kisses him, soft but eager. Eliot responds immediately, tilting his jaw and kissing back just as softly, just as insistent.

Quentin worries for a moment that it's too much, a step beyond what Eliot meant— but Eliot feels so natural against him that Quentin wonders if maybe he was waiting for Quentin to ask for this, too.

Either way, he's sure that if he didn't have the counter right behind him, he would be melting into the floor. Eliot's mouth is hot and wet and his hands are warm, trailing sparks along Quentin's skin. He could stay here all night just letting Eliot touch him, letting him press even closer, whether with his hands or his lips or his tongue. Eliot probably wouldn't be all that hard to convince, either.

Quentin grips the counter again when Eliot's teeth graze his lip - and then his fingers slide over the back of Quentin's neck, the gentle touch made rough by the sunburn, and Quentin breaks off with a quiet hiss.

"Fuck, sorry," Eliot breathes, taking his hand back, but he slides the other down Quentin's arm, keeping him close. "Maybe we should go back to cooling you down, huh?"

It sounds like a tragedy to Quentin, but he nods anyway, catching his breath. He remembers to snatch his shirt up from the floor before Eliot leads him out of the bathroom.

"You should stay hydrated," Eliot instructs, lowering his voice in the dark hallway. "And it's important to avoid further sun exposure while you're healing."

"So I'll borrow Margo's parasol for a few days, got it." Quentin takes one step in the direction of his bedroom but Eliot tugs him back, squinting down the hall. "What?"

"Your room faces the sun, doesn't it?"

"Uh... sort of?" He snickers, folding his fingers around Eliot's. "I don't think I'm going to get another sunburn just through the window, El."

"Maybe not," Eliot says airily, "but you cant be too careful. I happen to have blackout curtains."

Quentin blinks at him, searching his face in the light from the bathroom slanting into the hall. "You want me to sleep in your room?"

"For your own safety, first and foremost," Eliot explains, but his nonchalant expression only lasts a few seconds before he's ducking in close with a smirk. "But also for other, more selfish reasons."

"I see," Quentin says, biting back a grin as Eliot's free hand slides over his hip. "Well, maybe you have a point about the, uh. Curtains."

"I thought so," Eliot hums, leaning in to catch Quentin's mouth again. He lingers for a long moment before pulling him across the hall and into his room, keeping his hands on him the whole way.

**Author's Note:**

> unrestrained summer fun am i right! anyway i am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/marcelucien_) and [tumblr](aniallating.tumblr.com/), and once again rmr to check out the second round of [not alone here](https://twitter.com/notaIonehere)!!!! :O


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